


A chosen child

by Spiraling (Stormwind13)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Gen, Kidnapping, attempted human sacrifice, enslavement
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormwind13/pseuds/Spiraling
Summary: They'd discussed it, laying in front of campfire or in an inn, travelling between and to adventures or exploring new places. But when they'd decided that they had wanted children, Butsuma hadn't really thought they'd get them like this.
Relationships: Senju Butsuma & Senju Hashirama, Senju Butsuma & Senju Itama, Senju Butsuma & Senju Kawarama, Senju Butsuma & Senju Tobirama, Senju Butsuma/Senju Sumire (OC)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	1. Brought in from the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Hiruma_Musouka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiruma_Musouka/pseuds/Hiruma_Musouka) and enabled [Squidspawn](https://squidspawn.tumblr.com/) who provided the wonderful drawings at the end of each chapter. Go look at her other stuff!

“Never taking a job for fucking dwarfs again,” Butsuma muttered, relief curling in his belly as he spotted a small shrine in the distance. His ward’s arms around his neck tightened, tiny puffs of air hitting his skin as he forced his way through the snow. He paused, adjusting his hood, and kept going. “Just a little further and we’ll stop for the night.”

They’d try to find his wife, Sumire, in the morning, but he wasn’t hopeful. The attack had been well designed to split them up and burdened as he was with the boy they’d found a few months ago, she would have made better time. Unfortunately she was also better at going to ground than him, especially in the mountains - it would have been vastly preferable if she’d been closer to Hashirama.

He shoved open the door of the shrine, exhaling as he realized it was still a functional shrine and not one left to nature’s mercy. It’d give them shelter, which was the important thing, and hopefully it wasn’t dedicated to one of the more capricious gods. 

Butsuma snorted and carefully set Hashirama on the floor. They were in the mountains; _all_ the gods were capricious.

“Don’t wander off,” he ordered firmly, sweeping his gaze over the front area of the shrine. The small braziers were well stocked, if not lit, and the altar was draped in black cloth, someone’s offering wrapped in a cloth sack on top. He made sure that Hashirama was up on one of the benches lining the side of the room before casting nondetection on him and going to explore the rest of the building. He didn’t know how determined the clan that had attacked them was to keep their secrets, but one lone elf child was going to be easier to scry for than an adult human male, even during one of the worst winters he’d ever seen in the mountains. 

There wasn’t much in the shrine: rooms for an acolyte or two, a small kitchen area with enough firewood to keep a small fire going, and an indoor cistern, which was a boon he hadn’t been looking for. They would be able to stay in the kitchen, stay warm, and not piss off whichever god of storms or rocks this was. 

So of _course_ he came back to Hashirama determinedly trying to climb the altar instead. He went over, swearing internally and vowing to find some priest to pound some sort of respect for nature spirits into his head. Besides, Hashirama was an elf, it would be a good way to connect to his heritage so that he might be able to blend back into his own people. The boy shrieked in outrage and slammed a fist into his nose. 

“ _Somehow_ , leaving you where we found you didn’t seem like a good idea at the time,” Butsuma grumbled, tentatively wrinkling his stinging nose and blinking as his eyes watered. “I’m rethinking that.” 

“ _No!”_ Hashirama wiggled as he tried to escape, utilizing one of the only words in Common that he knew. “Want!” 

Butsuma glanced at the bundle as he said, “We _have_ food, we’re not stealing-” That was _not_ a bundle of food. That was an infant. 

“I hate people, some days,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on a now sniffling Hashirama and roughly patting his back while glancing at the god statue looming over them, taking in the roiling cloud motif along the edges of the base of the statue and the detailed hems of its clothing. A weather god. Wonderful. Prideful, easily insulted, and prone to mercurial shifts in temperament. Just what he needed.

He flipped the edge of the blanket back, eyes widening at the babe’s unnaturally white skin. The infant’s face screwed up, red eyes slitting open as they whined piteously, and Butsuma could take a guess as to what had happened. The babe was probably born right before the weather had taken a sudden turn for the worse a few weeks ago, and combined with its coloring… better to give the obviously cursed child to the gods than risk the entire group dying because they were angry. 

“This is why you decide to worship forest and animal spirits,” he lectured Hashirama seriously. It was never too early to try grinding good sense into children. “They’re indifferent, but you always know where you stand with them.” Well, he couldn’t just pluck the babe off the altar, that was sure to incite something to come after them, which was the last thing he needed. Dwarves were bad enough, he didn’t need gods too. He set Hashirama back on the floor - clearly a more precarious action than he’d thought - and rummaged through his pack. 

The food he was carrying was a given, as was his alcohol, and he sighed at the wasted money as he arranged them together before eyeing the collection critically. Not enough to match a live sacrifice, he didn’t think, and he went back to digging through the bag, reaching out and snagging the back of Hashirama’s jacket as he tried to sneak back to the altar. “ _Wait_.” He closed his eyes briefly before pulling out his magicked dagger - it could return to him during a fight and had kept him from dying on more than one occasion, so it should serve his purposes here. 

He picked everything up, Hashirama taking one of the bottles and following him back to the altar, watching with big eyes as Butsuma carefully arranged everything around the babe. The dagger went last, Butsuma easily scooping up the infant as he dropped the knife on the cloth. This wasn’t any of the gods or spirits that he paid tribute to, so he settled for an awkward bow as he took a careful step backwards, noting how weak the infant sounded. 

“Want,” Hashirama said again, tugging on his coat hem. A long string of elvish followed and Butsuma dropped a hand on his head to cut off the words. He knew basic elvish, but whatever people Hashirama had come from, they used a different dialect. It made communicating difficult some days, but the boy was picking up standard elvish at an impressive rate and he could at least understand some of what they said in Common, even if he wasn’t speaking it. But that was for when they were in the kitchen and Butsuma figured out whether there was anything to feed the infant. 

He wrapped the babe in his coat until he got a fire going, setting Hashirama down and arranging his arms. “You need to sit still and hold them,” he said firmly, placing the infant in the cradle that he’d created. “They’re cold and too tiny to keep themselves warm, so that’s up to you.” 

Hashirama nodded seriously, staring at the infant as Butsuma examined the kitchen, digging through cold boxes and shelves, not finding anything until two in, where there was a small flagon of goat’s milk, that didn’t smell off, stuffed under a preservation smell. It would have to do - he didn’t know how long the babe had been on the altar. 

He heated the milk carefully before grabbing a clean handkerchief and taking the babe from Hashirama, dipping the handkerchief in the milk and running a finger along the infant’s cheek, rousing them. Their mouth opened and he let the milk drip. It was a few seconds before the babe seemed to register that they’d been fed and then there was a thin, reedy wail. 

A good sign, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Butsuma had spent too much time trying to nurse baby animals back to health only to have them relapse. “There you go then,” he murmured, dripping more milk from the handkerchief. “Once we’re done we’ll see what your name’s going to be.” He chuckled. “I’m not sure this was how Sumire pictured starting a family, but she did want more than one.” 

The wind picked up and Butsuma gave the hearth fire an evaluating glance - there was enough wood for a few days. They’d need to wait out the storm. Another wail came as Hashirama leaned against him, fingers curling around his shirt.

Butsuma trusted that his wife could take care of herself, but he’d feel better once they were off the mountain. He still had no idea who had decided to sacrifice the infant either and didn’t know if they’d come back to ensure that the deed was done if the storm didn’t abate in a timely manner. Things would definitely be better once they were somewhere safe. 

[](https://imgur.com/86kV4e5)


	2. Alley born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been seven years since they'd found Tobirama in the mountains and Sumire was happy with her two sons. A trip into town for much needed supplies winds up with her bringing home a little more than intended.

Sumire should have waited until next month to come to the city, but they’d been running low on supplies and the small village they lived outside of didn’t have half of the mage supplies she and Tobirama needed. She tightened her grip on Tobirama’s hand, pushing her way through the crowds, and wished that she could have brought Hashirama instead - an elf wouldn’t stand out nearly as much as an albino. 

The Bard’s College loomed over the city in the distance, and Sumire pressed her lips together. Her own disguise was firmly in place and she was thankful that it was overcast and rainy, so that their hoods didn’t stand out. She wasn’t upset that she’d left, but she’d burned a lot of bridges when she had, there and at Hinotera University. Better that she not be recognized. 

“Mom.” Tobirama tugged on her arm. “Why are there so many people dressed the same?” 

She shushed him quietly before he drew attention to them. “It’s rude to comment on people’s appearances. But some of them are from the Bard’s college - they’re the ones with the silver pins, wearing the dark blue cloaks.” She’d gotten rid of the cloak almost immediately, but she still had the pin tucked in the back of her jewelry box. 

“You’re a Bard,” Tobirama said, tucking himself closer as a rowdy group of men walked by - probably mercenaries, judging by their clothing. “Dad said, when Hashirama asked. He said you were one of the best.”

Sumire’s lips quirked, fondly amused at her husband’s description. “I was, once,” she said. “I quit a little after I met your father.” Which wasn’t quite accurate, given that one didn’t _stop_ being a Bard. But she’d renounced her formal title and position, and walked away, so it was at least semi-accurate. “But now I am a mage and we need to go buy supplies before your father and brother decide to never speak to each other again.”

Tobirama grinned slightly, so she counted that a success. Hashirama was going through a stage where he felt the need to know the reasoning for every single decision and Butsuma was not the most patient with that. 

It was easy enough to find the supplies - apparently the armada was doing its job and protecting the merchant ships coming in - and they weren’t even prohibitively expensive, though she was going to need to be careful once they were back on their way home. A week was a long time to travel with only an eight-year-old for company and mage supplies weren’t common enough to be ignored by the bandits groups that the crown didn’t do anything about as long as they weren’t robbing the royal caravans. 

_Mages_ weren’t common enough to ignore really, but people tended to tread lightly around them for good reason. Sumire wasn’t a wizard or warlock, to turn them into newts, but she could make them depressed or crazed enough to turn swords on themselves or each other. It was an option she’d rather avoid, given that there were only so many Bards, and even less from the School of Swords, but she would if she had to. And of course the bandits wouldn’t know her capabilities before they attacked so even half-intelligent men should be assuming the worst of her.

“Mom!” Tobirama tugged her sleeve abruptly, pulling her towards an alley. “Mom, we need to go there.”

Sumire frowned and brushed some hair behind her ear as the rain began to pick up. “I want to go back to the inn, we can go exploring some more tomorrow before we leave.”

Tobirama didn’t move, tugging more insistently. “No! It’s _important_. We have to go see!”

She sighed and let him pull her over to the alley. No doubt it was just some sort of animal he had thought was interesting. The alley looked deserted, Tobirama pausing at the entrance before tugging her further in. Her hand dropped to the dagger on her belt - magic here wouldn’t be wise. 

“Tobirama-” she started, her voice low, before a low whimper caught her attention. She paused, glancing down at her son, who stared at the alley with narrowed eyes before looking up at her. “You stay _here_ ,” she ordered, slipping down the cobblestones on silent feet. 

There was another whimper and she paused next to a pile of refuse, stomach sinking. She brushed aside the first layer of garbage and there was a squeak before a small shadow darted out of the pile and ducked behind some barrels. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said, keeping her voice low and calm, projecting it so that whoever it was could hear her. The barrels were tucked into a corner where one of the buildings was slightly larger than the other - she didn’t think whoever it was had noticed before they trapped themselves there. 

She peered over the barrels, squinting in the dim light, and could just make out the tiny form jammed into the corner. She glanced back to make sure that Tobirama was where he was supposed to be before returning her attention to what had drawn him to the alley in the first place. 

Sumire reached down and swore viciously when teeth sank into her hand. She yanked her hand back, the child cringing back and hissing at her. She murmured a quick healing spell before crouching down and peering through the gap in the barrels. Bright silver eyes blinked back at her warily. 

“Let’s try this again,” she muttered. She reached out and scooped the child up, ignoring their struggling and murmuring soothing nonsense. He struggled, hissing turning to whimpering as he couldn’t get free. She shifted her grip so that she could get a better look at him. “Tiefling.”

And not one that was even slightly close to human norm - the dark blue skin made his pure silver eyes stand out even more with curly ram horns peeking out from light blue hair. She gently ran her fingers through it, working out the tangles as the little tiefling’s tail lashed against her leg. 

“Hush little one,” she soothed, shifting her grip and standing, tiny fingers grabbing her tunic to keep his balance. “Let’s get you somewhere warm and a bath.” 

She was going to need to cast an illusion spell to get them up to the room, but that would be easy enough. Tobirama was waiting at the mouth of the alley and he reached up and grabbed her hand, staring at the tiefling. 

“He’s blue!” he said, pleased. “I like blue.” He reached out and grabbed the twitching tail, just as the boy squealed and tried to jerk it away, curling into a tiny ball. Tobirama frowned, “I wanted to feel.”

“You need to ask first,” Sumire corrected gently. “Just like you and Hashirama aren’t allowed to pull each other’s hair. Tails are just as sensitive as hair.”

“Oh,” Tobirama said. “Sorry- Mom, what’s his name going to be?”

Sumire pursed her lips. “We’ll ask him when he’s been cleaned up and fed. He’s old enough that he should know his own name.”

Tobirama wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. “That’s dumb. He should get a new name, ‘cause we want him and they didn’t.”

“We’ll see how he feels about that,” Sumire said, still gently running a hand through the boy’s hair, ignoring his shivering. That would take time to fix. But that was fine, they had plenty of it. 

[](https://imgur.com/39nkZA3)


	3. Chapter 3

One day, he was going to learn to say no when family asked for his help, Butsuma decided grimly, grimacing as he continued to make his way through the tunnels under Eanhyrst. “It’ll be fun,” he muttered. “Just for old time’s sake, he said. He didn’t- mention-  _ the sewers _ .” 

He was going to murder his younger brother. Mother would be upset, but Butsuma wouldn’t get dragged into this idiocy anymore. And it wasn’t like it’d be hard to find someone else to blame - this entire city was in a near constant state of low level fighting thanks to the various gangs and guilds. Not that Butsuma could tell the difference between the two half the time. 

But his brother had asked if Butsuma would help get rid of an infestation of pseudodragons and Butsuma had agreed, leaving the boys with Sumire - he wasn’t going to risk Hashirama or Tobirama bonding with one of the things. If they wanted a pet, they could settle for  _ normal _ animals. 

He finally gave up and headed for the nearest ladder - the pseudodragons weren’t going to make their nests in the sewer unless they didn’t have another choice. Once he was on the streets, he tried to figure out where he was. The sea of masts told him he was at the docks or possibly in Graywood Borough, so he headed towards the ships - he could orientate himself from there. 

The streets were crowded and Butsuma spent as much time preventing his purse from being lifted as he did dodging the other people. Most of them were human, but there were enough other races to stand out. If it hadn’t been for the pseudodragons, he would have at least brought their older two here - the only non-human in the nearest village was the dwarven blacksmith who was determined to embrace his species stereotype and wouldn’t have anything to do with Hashirama. Kawarama could wait - the boy still flinched whenever any of them moved too quickly. And while his brother might be fine with both Hashirama and Tobirama, a tiefling was another story. 

He was in Graywood Borough, Butsuma decided, spotting the towering structure that rose over the buildings around it - the bedlam house, set right in the center of the city. But from there, he could figure out which direction the North Dragon district was and start making his way back to Fusuma’s shop. He decided to stick to the docks - at least the mild current that rotated through the harbor and the breeze kept the smells from lingering. He’d forgotten about the stench that most large cities had - one of the primary reasons he’d become a ranger in the first place. 

“Rare magical items! Imported from around the world!”

“Exotic spices! Rare cloth!”

The ships were docked, their merchants hawking their wares. Butsuma kept one ear out, since he’d promised the boys some sort of gift as a way to make up for not bringing them with him. He veered towards the magical items - Sumire had recently started teaching the boys simpler spells and they were going through ingredients at a quicker pace than normal. And his wife had a love of unusual magical trinkets. 

He’d work out something for Kawarama - he had no idea what the boy might like. And even if he’d been skeptical of Sumire bringing him into the house, it was hard to stay suspicious when it was clear the boy was completely terrified of all of them. The only one that he hadn’t immediately run from was Tobirama - apparently his son’s unusual coloration marked him as possibly safe. 

The ship’s deck was stuffed full, the contents of the hold hauled up and spread out so that they could be examined. Butsuma gave most of it a cursory glance and moved on, unimpressed. They could get just as good or better from the capital for cheaper. He paused in front of the crates claiming to be Lamia scales, feeling the magic coming off them. There wasn’t any way that these could be Lamia scales - the seagoing race was notoriously isolationist and  _ definitely _ didn’t share their scales with outsiders. 

He picked up a couple of scales, walking them through his fingers while he considered them: uniform in color, same size and shape… Even if they weren’t Lamia, the crew had killed  _ something _ and taken the time to skin and then separate out the scales. He dropped the scales back into the crate and moved on, but the scales… It had been a small chest, too small for the size of the scales. Either they’d only had access to a portion of the corpse or there were more and the laws regarding using sentient body parts were also clear, which was why basilisk and lamia scales were so expensive. They  _ had _ to be freely given and the mage had to be able to provide proof that they were.    
  
The crew  _ could _ have stumbled on a corpse, but the odds of that were…very small. Butsuma exhaled and continued meandering along the dock, moving with the crowd until he passed the door leading to the lower deck. There was a crew man keeping an eye on it, but it was ridiculously easy to trip someone and send them into one of the tables, drawing the attention of the crew as rare stones went flying, spinning across the deck in all directions. 

Once he was inside, he headed lower. They wouldn’t keep a corpse in the crew’s quarters or anywhere near where it might be stumbled on. Most of the crew was on deck, keeping an eye on the buyers - even if half of it was junk, that wouldn’t stop the local thieves guild from trying to pick them clean. 

“Dammit,” Butsuma muttered, staring at the pile of snake skin - it was nearly twenty foot long still, even missing parts of it. The crew must have skinned the body and dumped the rest overboard. He spread the skin out, mouth tightening as he noted the pristine condition of the skin - this hadn’t been a random corpse the crew stumbled on. Only a sentient race would have avoided damaging the largest part of any Lamia’s body when killing them. An animal would have gone straight for the scaled section. 

He needed to get off this ship and go to the portmaster - even if they were corrupt, the reward for turning over the killers of the magical races was large enough that the ship’s captain wouldn’t be able to bribe his way out of this  _ and _ the port master might be able to keep the skin. Incentive enough to have the whole crew arrested and hung. He decided to check the other rooms, just to see what else the crew might be hiding. If they were willing to murder, they were probably willing to commit other crimes. 

The first three rooms were empty, their contents presumably on the deck above him, the fourth was nothing but animal skins. Actual animals, if rare ones - the port master was going to want an accounting for those as well, because he doubted the ship had declared them when they’d docked. The fifth room… Butsuma prudently stopped at the edge of the hastily drawn chalk line, staring at the lamia child who had jammed himself into a corner, gaze following the chain that ran from the boy’s wrist to the wall. 

First things first, get the child - no doubt he’d be killed if the ship was raided. He crouched down, keeping his posture loose and nonthreatening. “Hello,” he said softly, keeping his voice even. “My name is Butsuma Senju. Can you understand me?” 

The boy curled his lips back, revealing a pair of glistening fangs, which explained the chalk line - that was probably the range of the chain. The fact that the crew hadn’t ripped out the fangs was more interesting, but lamia poison was potent and another useful spell ingredient… and it was a lot easier to pin down a child and milk the poison than attempting the same with an adult. 

“Hey!” 

  
Butsuma turned, catching the knife that had been heading for his back and throwing the man over his hip. The man hit the floor in the center of the room and Butsuma realized what he’d done at the same time the boy pounced, fangs sinking into the man’s neck. 

Apparently lamia poison was  _ very _ potent: the man was dead before the boy was back in his corner. And now leaving him really wasn’t an option, because there wasn’t any way to hide how the man had died. And if the port master  _ was _ corrupt then why stop with one lamia skin when he could have two, if he had the excuse that the boy was an uncontrollable danger. 

Butsuma cocked his head to the side, listening for anyone else before returning his attention to the boy. “It’s alright,” he said, calmly. “But if we want to get off the ship, you need to let me unlock the chain.” He needed to get the boy to trust him: he wasn’t sure if the boy would miss biting him if he just tried to grab him. 

The boy worried his lip for a second, gaze darting between Butsuma and the corpse on the floor before he slowly slid out of the corner, dragging the chain with him and holding it up. Butsuma took a careful step past the chalk line, watching the boy and waiting before he took another step. He was young, cheeks still slightly chubby, human torso seamlessly switching to snake with nearly three feet of tail already. 

How long had the crew had the boy? If it was only for a few days, the boy’s family might be close enough to track down, assuming that it had been more than him and his guardian. Butsuma carefully took the arm, noticing the bruises, and pulled out his lockpicks. “I don’t suppose it’s too much to hope that you speak common?” 

The boy blinked at him, looking wary, and Butsuma sighed. “Of course not. Four of four, can’t say a thing I can understand.” He tapped his chest. “Butsuma.” 

He repeated that twice before carefully touching the boy’s chest. The boy frowned and repeated, “B’tsuma.”

“No, that’s-” Butsuma shook his head. It was probably too much to expect that the boy, who was a separate race on top of being a foreigner, would speak common. He murmured a quick healing spell, the bruises fading as the magic took effect. The boy’s eyes widened and he almost fell backwards getting away. 

“What-? No, it’s not- It’s a healing spell, not something that’s supposed to hurt.” Butsuma rose and the boy rose with him, trying to make himself bigger, looking scared. He must have used all his poison on the corpse. 

A clatter from behind them, then a shout, “Shit! It’s loose!” 

_ Dammit. _ Butsuma lunged at the man, taking him out the door and slamming him into the wall as he drove a knife in between his ribs, before yanking it out and running it across the man’s throat. More shouts and he turned, hooking his arm under the boy’s armpits and yanking him up as the boy screamed. 

He charged forward. If they got up two decks then the ship’s gun ports opened and they’d have a quick way off the ship - the boy should be able to handle swimming just fine. The narrow corridor was actually a boon here, since no one seemed to want to get too close to the boy, who was perfectly willing to hiss and snap at the sailors. Training him out of biting was going to be a joy, Butsuma could already tell. 

At least he’d get along with Kawarama. 

Someone slammed him into the wall, making him drop the boy. He redirected the oncoming knife strike, turning it back. A shout of pain as he hooked the man’s ankle and dropped him on the floor, following him down and driving an elbow into his solar plexus. He regrabbed the boy, who wrapped his tail around Butsuma’s waist and clung to his neck - and he wasn’t thinking about those fangs right next to his jugular - as he sprinted upward. 

_ Finally _ , they made it to the gun deck. Unfortunately, so did quite a bit of the crew and they were blocking the way up. Butsuma scanned the - there. An open gunport, with the cannon pulled back enough that he could fit through it. Unfortunately, it was closer to the men then him, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. 

“Drop the snake and we’ll make it quick,” the man in the center snapped. Not the captain, not well dressed enough for that, but probably the second or third mate. He noticed that several of the men had corded nets and all of them were watching the child clinging to him. Well, the boy was hardly the biggest threat in the room. 

They just didn’t know it yet. 

He reached up, fishing out the amulet that he had carved when he’d turned twenty and been much more foolish, tying his fortunes to Malar, the god of the hunt. But Malar wasn’t bad as far as gods went and Butsuma kept the small altar well supplied with freshly hunted game. A quick push of power into the amulet and he felt the change sliding over his skin.

Fur covered him, fingers twisting into claws. The boy let go and hit the deck, ducking behind a cannon and peeking out from behind it. He landed on the deck, growl reverberating through the hold. The men paused, clearly debating whether to keep up this course of action. 

“If he leaves, we’ll hang,” someone in the back muttered. Butsuma’s lip curled and he lunged. 

Blood scent was thick in the air, his focus entirely on the opponents in front of him. His ears pinned back against his head, a pained scream cutting through the air. His head swung to look behind him, where the largest orc he’d ever seen was holding the lamia by his tail. 

The boy screamed again as the orc shook him, twisting up and trying to get at the wrist holding him, but he wasn’t strong enough and fell back with a frustrated whine. Butsuma shifted back, spitting blood and chunks of flesh on the floor as he did. What was ignorable as a wolf was less so as a man. There were some breathy groans of pain, but none of the men that had been blocking his path were still standing. The orc must have come up from behind then. 

“Ranger,” the orc spat. “Meddler. You weren’t called here for this.”

“Murderer,” Butsuma countered, slipping a knife out of his boot. The blood made the floor slippery, but these weren’t the worst conditions that he’d fought in. 

The orc sneered, lip curling to show off a dirty, broken incisor. “I’ll dash the brat’s head against the wall.”

“You’ll hang,” Butsuma pointed out, calling a little bit of magic to the fore. He needed the boy to shift, just a little. 

The orc shrugged. “Going to hang anyway.” He swung the boy back and forth tauntingly. 

_ There. _ Butsuma shot forward, sped along by the wind, ducking past the boy and slamming the knife into center mass, yanking it out, bounding around the orc to slam it into his spine, then throat, groin, finishing with the gut. He staggered as the orc collapsed - using the wind always left him disoriented. 

“Come on kid,” Butsuma said tiredly, slowly walking over to where the lamia was trying to slither away, whimpering. “Hey,” he kept his voice soft, holding out a hand loosely as the boy curled into a ball, tucking his human half under his coils as best he could. Butsuma shifted so he was in the boy’s line of sight. “Hey, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He pitched his voice to the same one he used when soothing wild animals, half turned to the ladder in case anyone else came down - most of his magic relied on the innate magic in all living things to function, so using spells that relied only on his was always more draining. The boy peeked one red eye at him, watching as Butsuma carefully reached out. 

“I’m going to use a healing spell,” Butsuma made a small cut on his wrist, running through the words of the spell and showing the boy his unbroken skin, “so I can fix your hurts.” 

He counted it as a win when the boy only hissed a little when he picked him up and ran a hand quickly over his tail, checking to make sure that nothing was broken. He picked him up, heading for the gun port - he wasn’t going to try and get off the deck holding the boy - and barely paused before jumping. 

His brother  _ owed _ him for this. This harbor was disgusting. 

**Home again**

“No water.” 

Butsuma glanced down at the lamia boy as they traveled along one of the game trails that ran near the cottage he and Sumire had created - there were several and nothing really prevented travellers from finding them except the isolated location. It had been a whim, so that they could have someplace quiet when they weren’t travelling, but with the addition of Kawarama and now Itama, the isolated location was a protection. 

“Some water,” he promised. “There’s a lake by the house.” 

He’d spent an extra two weeks in Eanhyrst, trying to get the location that the ship might have picked up Itama and his mother at, but none of them had been willing to admit to anything and Butsuma had been hampered by the fact that he was hiding Itama’s existence from the local authorities and officially had nothing to do with the ship being raided. When the entire crew had been hung, he’d gotten the route from the harbormaster and tried to trace it from there, asking Itama if he knew. 

But all the boy’s landmarks were underwater, nothing that would help him, and Itama wasn’t even sure how long he’d been trapped on the ship after being caught in a net. Only that they’d taken poison from him three times, which wasn’t helpful, considering that he doubted the crew had been on any consistent schedule. 

Itama perked up at that before tugging on Butsuma’s hand and holding up a rock. “Hurts.” 

“You just want a ride,” Butsuma said unimpressed and well aware by now of several methods boys would use to try wheedling out indulgences, but nevertheless crouched so that Itama could climb and wrap his tail around his waist and hang onto him. “We’re almost there, just a few more hours. What’s the rule?” 

“No biting,” Itama said obediently and it was a good thing that at least he and Sumire managed to consistently find  _ intelligent _ children whenever whatever god of orphans existed decided to dump them in their path. The amount of charades required to get ‘no biting under any circumstances whatsoever except defensive ones but not against your new brothers’ across would have been a pain.    
  
Itama reached over and patted anxiously at Butsuma’s bag strap, wrapping his fingers around it. Butsuma let him - there was a handful of scales and some of the lamia skin inside, along with some small trinkets that Itama had picked out. Butsuma had also carefully written down Itama’s first name phonetically, until he could figure out how to spell it later. It was, however, hard enough to pronounce that it was easier to give him a name that wasn’t going to be completely butchered and tied him to the rest of them.

And the boy didn’t seem to mind or at least hadn’t made any objections to the name. 

But it had nearly caused a fight between him and his brother. Butsuma exhaled, still angry from the fight and the ultimatum given by his brother. Hashirama and Sumire were welcome to visit, as was Tobirama. But not Kawarama and not Itama. That he was giving them family names was apparently a bridge too far, for the rest of the family. 

Itama rested his head against Butsuma’s shoulder, patting his chest. He’d noticed the boy did that, moving his hand around until he’d found Butsuma’s heartbeat. A reassurance that Butsuma was in good health? He didn’t know and Itama still didn’t know enough Common to communicate, if he even knew what he was looking for. 

Butsuma turned off the hunting trail, making his way cross country, careful to disturb as little as possible, and making sure that there were no traces of his presence. His family was safe as long as they couldn’t be found. If the local village knew that they had a tiefling here, his family would be blamed for every bit of misfortune that happened. No. They were safer as hidden as possible. 

Scales slid over his shirt, catching on the fabric, and Butsuma sighed quietly. He should probably look into deepening the river near their house - better to risk some drowning than have Itama swim too far away and get caught by a hunter. 

He pushed some branches out of the way, stepping into the clearing where the small house stood. Butsuma ran a hand over Itama’s hair, gently directing his gaze towards the house. The boy looked curiously, tightening his grip on Butsuma as the door burst open and Kawarama raced out of the house, freezing when he saw them and streaking back inside, bowling Hashirama over as he fled, the older boy landing on his rear as Tobirama tripped over his legs and landed on his stomach.

“Home,” he told the boy. “Welcome to the family.”

[](https://imgur.com/mZBYLbw)


End file.
